Perfect
by MarigoldStevens
Summary: He couldn't leave me. I was perfect and pretty and you just didn't leave perfect pretty people there to die such an un-perfect, un-pretty death. One-sided Glimmer/Cato, Cato/Clove. One-shot. Explaining things in the Hunger Games MOVIE.


**I saw the Hunger Games movie last night, and thought it was amazing. Seriously, I'm seeing it again this week. But one part really bothered me, and kind of soured the whole thing (for those of you who haven't seen the movie, don't get upset at me for saying this). The whole Glimmer/Cato thing they were obviously pushing was so infuriating I could barley take my mind off of it. I mean, really? Did they not realize at Clove's death scene that Cato cared for her, and that Glimmer was far too girly and frilly for him and Clove was the only one insane enough to possibly be with him? Well, anyways, this is in Glimmer's P.O.V., and it's my way of making things right once again in the Hunger Games universe.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned the Hunger Games, there would have been more of Cato/Clove than Katniss/Peeta. **

I have always been the pretty girl.

Even when I was a child, my mother would drag me out in public, blonde curls and frilly dresses topped off with big eyes. I was adorable. I was an angel. I was perfect.

Then came the reaping and I volunteered, causing my mother's face to tighten and my father to go silent. But it didn't matter, because I would win and come home and soon all of Panem would know that I was the most beautiful girl ever. I didn't have to work too hard for sponsors; they were lining up to help out the sexy, pretty girl from District 1.

Naturally, I teamed up with the Careers. I wouldn't survive on my own. I could protect myself well enough, but I wasn't made to be alone. People like me weren't suppose to be alone. Then I met Cato, and he was everything I had pictured: strong, handsome, cocky. It was perfect. Things always seemed to go perfect for me.

So there I was, cuddled up on Cato beside the fire, laughing at something he had said that actually wasn't that funny and running my fingers through his hair and he was smirking and letting me. That's the way it was between me and him: I admired him and built up his already over-inflated ego, and he stayed with me because who wouldn't?

I didn't like looking up, because I would either see Marvel looking so _sad _for some reason, clutching his spear all pathetic-like, or Clove. I hadn't liked her from the start. She was tiny, fast, and a threat. She was a threat to my plan to become the Dream Couple with Cato, making the Capital sigh at our true love and combined beauty; then sob senselessly when I was forced to plunge a knife into his stomach, giving him one last lingering butterfly kiss before the light faded from his eyes and the cannon boomed and I was crowned victor of the 74th Hunger Games. She shouldn't have been a threat, she wasn't nearly as pretty as I was. She didn't know how to flirt, touching his arm and giggling. She only looked on in disgust when I did that. No, she was stone-faced and cruel, taking pride in every slit throat. But yet she still was a threat. There was something odd between her and Cato, some sort of tension. Either they were arguing with clutched fists or giving each other these little side smirks, like they all knew something we didn't. It was maddening.

She had continued to glare at me, sharpening her array of knifes. I was mentally cursing the person who had decided to put such a large selection of knifes in the Cornucopia. No doubt she was imagining plunging them into my flesh, hearing my screams, cutting swirling patterns into my lily-white skin until it was a ghastly red. I had hardly spent any time with the girl and yet I already knew how messed up in the head she was (but, if I was being honest with myself, Cato was pretty messed up too).

But I blocked her out as I snuggled up on his arm and fell asleep, dreaming of the glory that awaited me back home.

My dream had been interrupted by an persistent buzzing sound. I frowned. Buzzing? That wasn't right. But when I opened my eyes, I realized the situation was much worse than I had thought. _Tracker Jackers._

I screamed an ungodly scream as they rushed at me, a giant hellish swarm. Cato immediately sprang up, alert. His eyes widened in shock as he took in the hundreds that swarmed around me, stinging me senseless.

"Help me!" I shrieked. He had started backing away, clutching his sword. I made an attempt to get up, but collapsed on my stomach. I couldn't even cry; the damn things wouldn't even let tears flow from my eyes. I opened my mouth to call for him again, because things weren't suppose to go this way. I was beautiful. He couldn't leave me. I was perfect and pretty and you just didn't leave perfect pretty people there to die such an un-perfect, un-pretty death.

Faintly, I heard his voice. I couldn't make out the words he was saying because the things had wormed their way into my ears, but he was close, calling something, his voice desperate and strained. My name?

"CLOVE!" I had went numb. Clove. Clove, not me. Sadistic little sneaky Clove, not perfect pretty Glimmer who just wanted things to go the way they were suppose to, the way they always had. No one-especially teenage boys- left the beautiful girl to die, and then saved the hateful little insane one. Things just didn't work that way.

But things were obviously much more different in the Arena than they had seemed. I could only watch as Cato clutched Clove's arm, her eyes wide in shock and horror as she glanced at me, before racing off, not loosening his grip. Then I understood.

It wasn't about him caring about _me_; he had never cared about me. He admired my beauty, it was an admirable quality. I was a plaything, something to stroke and tease then discard once it was damaged. I wasn't important to him and never had been. I was merely a source of entertainment and amusement, helping to boost his ego and serve as a constant reminder of his good-looks. But Clove was different. Clove herself was something precious and important to him. He didn't come back for Clove because she was pretty and the model teenage girl; no, he came back for Clove because she was Clove and for some strange reason she actually mattered in his twisted little world.

So I had laid there, numb to the stinging, watching as large purple bubbles encased me in a cocoon of darkness, my previously clean and neat oval-shaped nails clawing at the dirt as I watched everyone I had ever known die. Mother. Father. My sister. The girl with nice hair who had complimented me on my dress once. The boy who's father had sold me my necklace. Cato. Rue. Katniss. Marvel. Clove.

Letting out one last whimper, I let the yellow choking flowers growing out of my arms clog my throat as I closed my eyes. I was slipping into darkness as I distantly heard the boom of a cannon and realized that everything wasn't always so perfect after all.

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